


a house in washington

by grimmrific



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, John Egbert Angst, John Egbert Is a Good Dad, Married Life, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Homestuck Epilogues: Candy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmrific/pseuds/grimmrific
Summary: On Earth C, John mostly has it together. But sometimes, he'll remember what has been lost, and during those episodes of panic, it's up to Roxy to bring him back to the present. (I wrote this as a practice because I've never written a homestuck fic before)
Relationships: John Egbert/Roxy Lalonde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	a house in washington

Every once in a while, it would hit him like a load of bricks. In between the responsibilities of marriage and godhood and parenthood, there would be painful memories of the suburbs, and of baking, and of being somebody's son.

On one particular night, he woke up in a cold sweat. Sitting up and breathing hard, he could hear the sound of wind rustling through the trees outside. His wife slept soundly next to him, and from down the hall, he could hear the faint creaking of a rotating baby mobile. Domesticity: it was bliss. But it was achingly familiar.

Like so many times before, the images began rushing through his head. A house in the suburbs of Washington. Harlequins, ashes, a living room intact. A bedroom adorned with movie posters. Not great movies-- movies a child would like. After all, it was the room of a child.

A father who was firm, but fair. The scent of baked goods. The scent of pipe smoke. A locked study. The smiling, green face of the ride in the front yard. A piano where there were lessons every week. All of the luxuries he didn't know he had. A good house, a good education. Gone.

School. He had gone to school, then. He didn't enjoy it much, but it was a part of life. He was under the impression that he could still get his grades up. That he had time. He had had classmates, too-- what were their names? They were all dead now. He didn't talk to them much anyway. His real friends were online. Nowhere else but there. He had never seen them and wondered what they looked like. 

His dad would leave notes for him. He would cook, he would bake. He hid his office job. He indulged his son's interest and never disapproved of his friends. He was looking forward to the day he would become a man. These things used to annoy him. 

John was thirteen. It was his birthday. And it was all his fault. He killed his classmates, he killed his dad, he--

He felt a hand on his forearm. Reality slowly taking hold of him, he looked over at his wife. The look on her face was sympathetic and mournful, and she was gripping onto him like his life depended on it.

"John," she said softly. "Calm down. You have me, and Harry, and your friends. We've all lost stuff, too, and we miss it, but we have each other."

His mania slowly melted away as the images of meteors and dead dads and ruined houses all disappeared. He was with his wife and son now, and he was safe. He closed his eyes.

"Thanks for that, Rox. I really needed it."

In the other room, Harry Anderson began to cry. 

"Oh jegus," groaned Roxy, rolling over. "It's okay, I'll get it."

"No, no, go back to sleep," said John, getting out of bed. "I got it."

John walked into the nursery and scooped up Harry from his crib. As he paced around the room, rocking and shooshing, he regarded his son fondly; he looked so much like his mother.

Once again, John's thoughts wandered to his own father. He may not have been there to witness them himself, but he would be proud of John's accomplishments. Especially the one he was cradling in his arms.

The house from Washington may be mangled up, and the man who raised him may be gone, but he swore that he would be there for Harry just like his dad was for him. His son would have a childhood that lasted beyond thirteen, and a normal house, a normal social life, and normal responsibilities. 

It was the least he could do.


End file.
